


dragon sons

by malmiele



Series: Falcons and dragons have one thing in common [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family Dynamics, Multi, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 08:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20504210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malmiele/pseuds/malmiele
Summary: “The votes are in and the council has spoken. As is the law of primogeniture, I hereby name Laenor Velaryon the Prince of Dragonstone.”





	dragon sons

His mother and father were away at King’s Landing, but Laenor had stayed home with his sister on Driftmark. He hears distant shrieks in the background; Laena must be playing pranks with some of her maids again.

Laenor’s room has a window which overlooked the sea, and he had made sure he put his desk there, so he could look up from his reading and see the sea before him. He was close enough to smell the salt of the water, and hear the crash of the waves against the shore. No one says that he is like his parents – those comparisons are normally saved for Laena – but if there was one thing he had in common with his father, it was that he loved the sea.

“Laena!” Oh, Septa Helicent was going to start her chiding again. “You must learn your embroidery. How else will you be a good lady to your lord husband when you grow up?”

He can hear her footsteps running down the hallway. Closer, closer…right on cue, she darts straight into Laenor’s room, neatly sliding under the bed. Septa Helicent arrives barely three seconds after her, clearly trying not to show her exasperation.

From under the bed, Laena sticks out her tongue. Laenor turns back towards the septa, a placid smile on his face.

“Septa Helicent,” he asks, eyes all carefully feigned curiosity, “why does Laena need to know how to sew to be a good lady?”

He may not be as brave and outgoing as his older sister, and he always gave the master-at-arms a splitting headache, but if there was one thing Laenor was good at, it was dissipating Septa Helicent’s anger. Sure enough, the septa sighed – half fond, half resigned – and sat down in a chair opposite Laenor.

“Embroidery is a womanly skill that all proper noble ladies, such as your older sister here – ” she side-eyes the bed where Laena was still stubbornly hiding, “ – must learn, else she be considered a laughingstock or uncouth by her husband.”

“You can’t say that! Mother doesn’t like embroidering either!” Laena protests, finally emerging from under his bed. “And Laenor will make sure no one finds me a laughingstock, or uncouth. Right, Laenor?”

Laenor nods, all solemn.

“Just because Her Highness dislikes embroidery does not mean she cannot do embroidery.” Septa Helicent’s words are more cautious now. “If you listen and be good, I am sure no one will ever find fault with you when you are older.”

“That much is certain,” Laena pouted, clearly still unwilling to pick up her needle, but tired of running from Septa Helicent. She stabbed the cloth with the needle in her hand, reluctantly doing a few stiches as she grumbled under her breath. “They will all be awed by Vhagar, and everyone will forget that we even need silly embroidery.”

Vhagar was massive, towering over anything else in sight; she was burgundy shot with streaks of gold and bronze, and was the biggest, oldest dragon in all of Westeros, once mount of Visenya the Warrior Queen. And Laena had, before her seventh birthday, claimed Vhagar for her own.

Everyone had been surprised except Laenor. Claiming the greatest dragon in the Seven Kingdoms was completely on brand for his older sister, who would accept nothing less than the best. And Laena was the kind of person who would accomplish everything she set her mind to.

At the same time, she was quite vehemently against anything she did not want to do, which was the main source of woe for Septa Helicent.

* * *

Fortunately for her, she could save that frustration for another day when they hear the servants greeting their parents – they had returned.

Laena sprints down the hallways triumphantly, knowing Septa Helicent cannot stop her now, and Laenor hurries to catch up with her.

“Mama!” She yells once they enter her line of sight. “Papa!”

Mama ruffles her hair while Papa carried her up in his arms, eliciting whoops of delight from Laena. Laenor skids to a halt in front of them, grinning to hide the fact that he was panting from all that running.

Mama wraps a comforting arm around his shoulder. “Have the two of you have caused any trouble while we were away?”

“Of course not, Mama,” Laenor answers before Septa Helicent can get the chance to say anything.

Mama laughs, and exchanges a glance with Papa. Papa nods, pulling Laena over his shoulders. “Want to see what we brought back from King’s Landing?”

“Yes! Let’s go!” she cheered in excitement.

Laenor is about to follow them when he feels his mother gently pull him back.

“Mama needs to talk to you about something.”

“What is it, Mama?”

Reaching inside her cloak, she pulls out a dragon’s egg, pale silvery-grey patterned with glittering swirls. Laenor’s eyes widened in wonder as she handed it to him. It was hefty; nearly too much for a boy his age to carry, and radiated warmth from within.

“Do you like it?”

Still too stunned to answer, he nods.

Mama smiles in satisfaction. “Take good care of it,” she told him. “Keep it by your bedside.”

The swirls on its shell seemed to move, like the ripples in a pond, or perhaps Laenor was getting lost in them.

“Thank you, Mama…but why?”

“What do you mean by why?”

“I’m not a prince,” he said, caressing the scales of the shell; he was still mesmerised by it. “I know the Targaryen princes and princesses get a dragon egg when they are born, but I’m not a Targaryen.”

“If Laena can claim Vhagar, who is to say you cannot hatch a dragon egg?”

“I…” Laenor trailed off, no longer sure of what he was going to say.

Mama pat his shoulders reassuringly. “Your Mama is a Targaryen, a princess of the Iron Throne. Of course you deserve a dragon egg. You are a son of the dragon too. Remember that, okay?”

* * *

Two weeks later, Laenor had woken up to a young hatchling dragon in place of his dragon egg. In that moment, he felt like Laena – shouting and yelling in excitement as he ran around the castle of High Tide, announcing the news to anyone who would hear him. It was barely daybreak, and many of the servants were disgruntled at first – of course, all that disappeared when they saw the little dragon perched upon his shoulders.

“I hatched a dragon! I have my very own dragon!”

Mama and Papa had never seemed prouder. Laena was, for the first time in a long time, actually jealous of him.

“It’s adorable! That’s unfair! You can bring your dragon with you anywhere!”

He could not resist rubbing it into her face. “Yes, and one day it’ll be as big as yours!”

She huffed, but then broke into a smile – she could never be truly upset at Laenor for long.

“Yes, and we’ll fly together! What is its name?”

Laenor looked out of the window of his room, where he saw the waves crashing on the rocks below him. The sun was only starting to rise now, and the ocean air was still cool with heavy mist.

“His name,” he says resolutely, “Is Seasmoke.”


End file.
